It features an all Bach program for multiple pianos accompanied by a string ensemble of members from the College of Charleston Chamber Orchestra and the Charleston Symphony Orchestra conducted by Lorenzo Muti. And all of the soloists are College of Charleston graduates.

This is not music that you typically hear on the radio or even on CD, partly because it is such an unusual combination of instruments.

The evening promises to be a spectacular finish to this season’s very successful series of concerts (thank you, Enrique).

TUESDAY • April 27 • $20/students free
J.S. Bach concertos for 2, 3, and 4 hands
8 PM • Sottile Theater • 44 George St

During his years in Leipzig, Johann Sebastian Bach had far more than just church music to attend to. As director of the Leipzig Collegium Musicum, he was also his city’s leading exponent of secular instrumental music. Bach, assisted by his two oldest sons, Wilhelm Friedemann and Carl Philip Emanuel, was responsible for providing fresh chamber and orchestral music for the Collegium’s weekly meetings.

Bach met these duties in various ways. First, he recycled many suitable instrumental works that he had composed during his periods in Weimar and (especially) Cöthen, often rearranging them for different solo instruments. Next, he simply adapted the music of other composers to his requirements—then an accepted practice. Finally, he wrote new works from scratch. All three of these schemes gave rise to Bach’s concertos for multiple harpsichords, four of which will be performed as piano concertos.

Concerto in C Major for Two Pianos, BWV 1061
Like all the other concertos on the program, this piece follows the usual Baroque concerto model: scored for strings and continuo, with fast-slow-fast movement sequences. Written around 1730, it was almost certainly conceived as a work for two solo harpsichords; the comparatively sparse orchestral parts seem almost to have been added as an afterthought. The opening Allegro is an effervescent affair, with the two soloists blithely tossing their themes back and forth. The gentle central adagio is played by the soloists alone. Likewise, the ebullient closing fugue begins with the unaccompanied soloists who develop their contrapuntal motifs for quite awhile before the strings finally join them.

Concerto in D Minor for Three Pianos, BWV 1063
Some music historians believe that this is a transcription of unknown work(s) by other composers. But most believe that the piece’s freshness and contrapuntal vitality could only be the work of Bach, and that he probably wrote it for his own performance (along with his two sons) at his Leipzig Collegium concerts. This stands to reason as the first harpsichord part (the one that Papa Bach would’ve certainly played) dominates with its greater technical challenge and pair of solo cadenzas in the first movement. In any case, the substance and power of its outer movements, plus the central movement’s subdued pathos, make this one of Bach’s finest of the genre.

Concerto in C Major for Three Pianos, BWV 1064
Some have criticized Bach’s keyboard concertos—with their overlapping contrapuntal complexities—as being forbiddingly dense and “overwritten.” But this concerto would seem an exception. The solo keyboard parts tend to stand out more clearly, as they are comparatively independent, and because of the orchestra’s often “solistic” roles. Believed to be a transcription of a (now lost) concerto for three violins, it remains a favorite of its kind. The first two movements are among Bach’s deepest and most wide-ranging. Keyboard players love it, too, as all three soloists get their own virtuosic cadenzas in the jaunty finale.

Concerto in A Minor for Four Pianos, BWV 1065
This is the only work in this group that can be firmly attributed to another composer. Bach arranged it from Italian master Antonio Vivaldi’s Concerto for Four Violins in B minor, Op. 10/3, during his Weimar period. Musicologists generally agree that he improved on the original by refining and extending Vivaldi’s counterpoint while enriching and clarifying his harmonic structure. Bach did likewise for the four solo parts, giving the keyboard players ample opportunities to shine.

(Lindsay Koob writes his regular blog Eargasms for the Charleston City Paper.)

Enrique Graf, Artist in Residence at the College of Charleston, is Director of the International Piano Series.

Click here to get ticket information.

In the next few days, we will post part 2 of the video interview where Enrique talks about his students, his teaching methods, and his approach to music. In the meantime, get ready for what will surely be a spectacular concert at the Sottile.

TUESDAY • March 16
Works by Haydn, Rachmaninoff, Tosar, and Liszt
8 PM • Sottile Theater • 44 George St

Piano Sonata No. 62 (Hob. XVI/52) in E-flat Major • Joseph Haydn
This sonata is considered by many to be Haydn’s greatest (and trickiest) work in the genre. Like his Sonata No. 60 (see Mr. Berrocal’s program notes), it was written for London virtuoso, Therese Jansen, during his second visit to that city in 1794/95. As “Papa Haydn’s” sonatas go, it’s a rare tour de force of virtuosity.

The opening Allegro moderato movement treats an abundance of ideas, all based upon the material heard in the first eight bars. The secondary theme comes at the end of the exposition, launching an extended flurry of development. The following Adagio’s dotted rhythms and thematic materials bear strong kinship to the previous movement. The ebullient finale strays from the usual rondo form, again presenting a wealth of varied motifs in sonata form.

Morceaux de Fantaisie, Op. 3 • Sergei Rachmaninoff
Here’s a rare chance to hear Rachmaninoff’s five early Morceaux de Fantaisie as a complete set (they’re usually heard separately). They’re considered an important barometer of the composer’s early development. They are all in three-part (ABA) form, save for the final Sérénade—a straightforward waltz with Spanish inflections. The best-known of them by far is the second work of the cycle: the justly famous Prélude in C-sharp minor that the composer came to hate because his concert audiences always demanded it as an encore.

Aside from those, you’ll hear the lovely opening Elégie, a melancholic gem with epic melodies and a grand climax. Mélodie—the third number—combines drama with lyric beauty, with an ending that recalls Chopin. The following Polichinelle is a pyrotechnic blockbuster that comes at you like a fast and devilish march.

Danza Criolla • Hector Tosar
Pianist, conductor, and composer Hector Tosar (with whom Mr. Graf shares a birthday) was one of his native Uruguay’s most important musical figures. His early Danza Criolla is a fairly short (six minutes) and energetic piece that recalls the “Malamba”—a Gaucho folk-dance from the Pampas of Argentina. It begins and ends with a headlong pattern of running eighth-notes, in the driven manner of a toccata—with more lyrical moments in between. It features rather strange harmonics, with one hand playing in C Major (white keys) while the other plays only black keys. Its lively South American flavors are reminiscent of Alberto Ginastera, Argentina’s greatest composer.

Sonata in B minor • Franz Liszt
Liszt’s magnificent single-movement sonata—among his thousand-plus piano works—remains the only one written in strict sonata form. It comes across as a free-flowing, spontaneous fantasia—but it’s in fact very tightly organized around the materials heard in the work’s opening passages. It dates from 1854, after one of his high-born mistresses convinced him to retire from concertizing to concentrate on composition.

Single movement or not, the piece has all the trappings of a conventional sonata. Liszt managed to draw three complete themes from the opening bars—plus a chorale-like central passage. All of them are revisited in the later Prestissimo section, and (in part) in the concluding Andante. And there are sections of the work that even correspond to the usual opening movement-slow movement-scherzo-finale format. But even if you can’t catch them all, the work’s spectacular pyrotechnics and unbridled passion will simply bowl you over. •

(Lindsay Koob writes his regular blog Eargasms for the Charleston City Paper.)

I’ve been bearing such wondering witness to Micah’s music-making (and writing about it) ever since he first walked through the door of my sorely missed classical room at Charleston’s now-closed Millennium Music store, back when he was only eleven. Many of you will recall the lovely grand piano I had there—and the popular “Sunday Spotlight” concert series that I built around it. Ever the talent scout, I asked Micah to play something for me, after learning that he was an advanced piano student.

I expected—at best—the usual mechanical and mono-dimensional playing that you routinely get from kids, even the supposedly talented ones. But I wish I had been able to see my own thunderstruck facial expression as this shy, serious, towheaded slip of a boy launched into the Mozart sonata he was working on at the time. Not only was he hitting all the notes, but—right from the opening bars—he was also realizing almost everything else that the music had to offer behind mere notes. Not only were Mozart’s hallmark grace and charm there to be savored, but also the composer’s sunny sweetness—and even his occasional pangs of melancholy or sharp emotion. And it got even better, as Micah delivered further selections from other composers.

Micah McLaurin

Needless to say, I was absolutely floored—and lost no time in scheduling a semi-formal recital for him there at Millennium. A few weeks later, he appeared—resplendent in his rented mini-tux—to offer a 45-minute program of advanced classics (from memory!) to a standing-room-only crowd of stunned music lovers. Somehow, here—from a mere child—was real music-making-complete with technical confidence, interpretive maturity, and emotional depth… while remaining stylistically true to the composers at hand. As I’ve written before, many young virtuosos can play all the notes, but very few can put their whole hearts and souls behind them like Micah could, even then.

That was more than four years ago. Meanwhile, Micah has moved on to a world-class teacher: the College of Charleston’s Artist-in-Residence, Enrique Graf, who runs one of the country’s finest piano pedagogy programs. And Micah just keeps getting better and better. You can peruse Micah’s list of awards and competition wins in this earlier article. Graf calls him the most talented piano student he has ever had the privilege of teaching. And this week and next—over a span of four days—Micah will get his chances to prove it. His local orchestral debut will happen at this Saturday’s Charleston Symphony Masterworks concert, where he’ll be performing the slow movement from Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 23. The following Tuesday, he’ll be the youngest performer to ever get his own full-length, formal piano recital as part of Graf’s vaunted International Piano Series: a concert series that has showcased many of the world’s truly great piano masters over the years. And his ambitious program (see my program notes) is one that would intimidate many adult pianists. Trust me.

Let’s dig a little deeper into the “prodigy” matter. It’s almost impossible to define clearly, especially when you’re talking about music: the most subjective and intuitive of the arts. This is where the “wonder” part comes to bear—even for a seasoned musician and critic like me. I’ve already touched on matters like Micah’s uncanny interpretive depth and emotional vitality. So how, you may ask, has a home-schooled ninth-grader (also a boy scout and competitive swimmer) managed to accumulate enough of life’s inevitable ups and downs to enable him to express the kinds of heart-on-sleeve emotion and dramatic intensity that you hear in his playing? What can a barely adolescent boy possibly know of adult-level romance, humor, triumph, drama, grief, desolation, or any of the other human feelings and impulses that music speaks of? Yet, with your eyes closed, you’d swear that it was a fully grown, finished artist at work before you.

May I suggest that Micah’s preternatural musical maturity—since it can hardly be the result of actual life experience—flows perhaps from a deep and mystical sensitivity to the music at hand; he has somehow come to understand such intangible qualities from the music itself. Micah, still a shy and soft-spoken young man, is nevertheless a confident, even fearless performer who would rather do his talking with his flying fingers. He and I have communicated at length via email and Facebook, and he’s dropped some interesting hints along the way. He has spoken of “dreaming” spells inspired by the music of composers like Chopin, Rachmaninoff, and Wagner.

But most telling, perhaps, was his answer to one of my questions a few months back about how he seeks to engage his listeners. His simple response was, “I want to make my audience cry.” And I can testify, from personal experience, that Micah has the power to do just that. His performing muse is driven by his desire to share with others the beauty and emotional intensity of music that has ignited a joyful fire in his soul; music that is simply too precious to keep to himself.

So, especially if you’ve never heard a real “Wunderkind” in person before, just be there at the Gaillard this Saturday—or at the Sottile Theatre next Tuesday—to share my own endless sense of wonder as this young wizard plays his way into our hearts. And don’t forget your hanky: you’ll probably need one before Micah is finished with you. •

(See Lindsay’s program notes for the Sottile performance: click here.)

Hartmut has been featured in concerts throughout Europe, Russia, and the United States. His competition prizes include the Jugend Musiziert Competition in Germany, the Anton G. Rubinstein International Piano Competition, and the Johannes Brahms International Piano Competition in Austria. He has alsoappeared in the Im Agricoli Festival in Poland, the Schubertiaden and Dreiklang festivals in Germany, and Piccolo Spoleto in Charleston.

Hartmut received his Artist Certificate from the College of Charleston where he studied with Enrique Graf. He is currently a faculty member at the Conservatory of Music in Dresden, Germany.

MONDAY • OCTOBER 26
Works by Schubert, Hoiby, and Chopin
8 PM • Sottile Theater • 44 George St

Franz Schubert: Moments Musicaux

Franz Schubert’s six Moments Musicaux remain among the most beloved of his many piano miniatures. Written mostly during the final two years of his tragically short life, they are full of the composer’s hallmark melodic charm and harmonic beauty. Some have characterized them as “songs without words.”

The opening piece (listen at left) is a kind of stylized minuet—one that was never meant to be danced to. Its upbeat outer sections stand in stark contrast to the wistful and lovely central section. The second is a gentle, five-section rondo of sorts, with tuneful, yet tragic interludes—and even a moment of helpless, “why-me?” outrage (he knew he didn’t have much longer to live). Next comes a delicate little eastern-flavored gem that sparkles, delights, and makes you want to dance.

The highly original fourth piece sounds almost like Bach, with staccato bass figures underlying its mesmerizing legato melodic flow—until the middle section’s placid, “rowing” theme appears. Marked contrast arrives with the fifth number: a robust, galloping piece with moments of subdued mystery. The final item—the longest of the lot—returns to the quasi-minuet form and mood of the opening number; offering soft, other-worldly appeal shot through with a desolate sense of emotional resignation.

Lee Hoiby: Toccata · Schubert’s Variations

Franz Schubert

American master Lee Hoiby has been called the “other Samuel Barber.” His Toccata, Op. 1 was written in 1951, while he was still a student—before he had found his mature voice. Its virtuosic nature reflects his ambition to become a concert pianist.

This experimental work is reminiscent of Debussy, and especially Prokofiev. It bounces back and forth between conventional harmony and atonality. Save for a chorale-like central passage, it’s a kinetic and hard-driving piece, with a tense and worried feel to it. Hartmut described it as “kind of crazy.”

Hoiby’s Schubert Variations, dating from 1979, are based on one of Franz Schubert’s many short waltzes for piano—specifically a “Ländler,” a kind of Austrian folk-dance. The piece, in somewhat altered form, also exists in a chamber version for nine strings and woodwinds. The music seems to progress ever-farther from the dark, minor-key theme, while retaining Schubert’s original bittersweet aura. The prevailing mood is subdued and lyrical, though there are some rapid and rhythmically vital passages. A gentle restatement of the opening theme brings the work to a pensive and lovely close.

Frederic Chopin: Sonata No. 3 in B minor

While the vast majority of Frederic Chopin’s output consists of shorter pieces, his final Sonata No. 3 in B minor, Op. 58 is a shining example of his skill and assurance in handling the more substantial sonata form.

Its opening movement presents a brief and stormy first theme, followed by a more extended second subject. The music alternates between stunning virtuosity and quieter lyrical passages, with deft use of counterpoint in its central development section. The following scherzo movement is a delightful and fleeting romp, temporarily interrupted by a serene and poignant trio section.

The soft and songful largo movement—the sonata’s heart (listen at left)—could well have been one of Chopin’s enchanting nocturnes. It begins with an exquisite aria, leading into a quietly rhapsodic central section. The swelling chords that begin the finale quickly give way to a headlong, often violent rondo that skillfully blends elements of its opening and middle sections as it drives to a blazing finish. •

Read Lindsay’s introductory article to this series.

But it seems each succeeding generation of teachers since then has been less in touch with the classics. We’re failing to find and nurture musical talent, and gifted kids are slipping through the cracks. Californian Eric Whitacre, one of America’s hottest young composers, didn’t hear a note of classical music until he was 19. College music appreciation courses are mostly elective, and many students bent on technical or commercial careers can’t be bothered. For many otherwise smart and successful young professionals, U2 remains the height of musical sophistication.

In most European nations, every child learns how to play an instrument and is a seasoned concertgoer by the age of 12. As a result, over 15 percent of their citizens support musical culture—as opposed to a pathetic 3 percent in the U.S. No wonder so much of the civilized world thinks Americans are cultural idiots.

Paradoxically, U.S. music conservatories are among the world’s finest, drawing hordes of foreign students. In fact, they’re churning out more crack musicians than our musical establishment can absorb. Orchestral and full-time teaching gigs are limited by comparison.

On the secondary scene, there are some happy exceptions to report. The North Charleston School of the Arts has set new national and international standards for student test scores in music theory. I’ve met students whose families have moved here from as far away as the Midwest to send their kids to school there. And yet there are rumblings about cutting this model program’s funding.

There are similar success stories across the nation, but they’re mostly exceptions to the sad rule. Fiscal priorities are increasingly tipped in favor of math and science, not to mention basic literacy skills. Many schools have essentially no music faculty at all, making do with itinerant instructors who have to cover multiple schools.

Maybe it’s time we took matters into our own hands. How about volunteering to spend a couple of hours a week playing and talking about music at your local elementary school? Why not offer to teach music appreciation classes at your community rec center? Invite your hip-hop-addicted teenaged nephew to a CSO or Spoleto concert. Unless those of us who give a damn about the classics can be persuaded to climb down from our ivory towers and soil our elevated pinkies in the trenches, great music will ring ever fainter in the ears and souls of future generations.

Mrs. Haines, where are you when we need you? •

Mahler’s mighty Symphony No. 5 is his first fully “mature” work. It took him back to purely orchestral writing after three straight symphonies that included vocal elements, and tended to vent his lofty philosophical and spiritual ideals. But all that changed with the enigmatic fifth which begins with a harrowing funeral march—one that could have been his own. The following episode offers no relief—you wouldn’t expect any in a movement marked “stormy, with greatest vehemence.” Grief, terror, doubt, unspeakable melancholy—it’s all there, and in spades. It’s the fevered outcry of a man who’s just been smacked upside the head with his own mortality. Given the encroaching heart disease that did him in about a decade later, this is a theme that was to haunt most of the rest of his output.

But hey, it’s not over yet. It’s on to the scherzo movement, where things lighten up quite a bit. This edgy, but exuberant romp seems to tell us to gather our rosebuds while we may—and it sure beats the scenario that he’s just dragged us through. Then things get positively drippy in the Adagietto, his searing love-song to his wife, Alma (see the video below). It’s a marvel of romantic yearning for strings and harp that makes you wonder if anyone’s ever loved you that much. In the wake of near-tragedy, Mahler counts his blessings here, while reminding us that great art can also be inspired by joy. The manic finale shouts that joy and more to the skies, bringing all to a grand and life-affirming close.

Gustav Mahler’s 5th symphony, third movement (Adagietto)
Lucerne Festival Orchestra • Claudio Abbado, conductor • 2004

A fringe benefit of Mahler’s first near-fatal malady came from his sickbed study of J.S. Bach’s works, which led to his increased use of advanced counterpoint. But that also made the fifth his “problem child”: he was never happy with what he considered his first clumsy attempts, and he tinkered with its orchestral textures and balances off and on for the rest of his life. The definitive final version wasn’t published until nearly 80 years later. But posterity agrees that he finally got it right.

Mahler was the first composer to plumb the soul’s depths quite so radically, the first to bare raw and primal fears so painfully. No wonder we had to wait several generations after his death before listeners finally began to catch on to him. That’s also why the piece leaves most listeners so emotionally drained. It’s a headlong manic-depressive roller-coaster ride. And amid the grit, turmoil, loves, and triumphs of our own lives, we emerge from Mahler’s musical cauldron cleansed and comforted, not to mention elevated. •

This article is excerpted from the program notes that Lindsay wrote for the Spoletobuzz blog, May 2005.